


Where the Heart is

by TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas Angst, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), He's just still working it out, Softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: There is a demon asleep on Aziraphale's sofa!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73
Collections: Ineffable Husbands Advent Challenge 2020





	Where the Heart is

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ineffable Husbands Christmas Advent Calendar. The prompt was Naughty or Nice? A Christmas Eve Celebration. 
> 
> If you're the nice one don't read until the 24th - I'm posting a day early.  
> If you're the naughty one...well, Santa's watching. 
> 
> Thank you to  
> [PinkPenguinParade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPenguinParade)  
> for the speedy beta.

Aziraphale paused in the doorway to the back room, a glass of mulled wine in each hand, and witnessed the exact moment Crowley fell asleep on the bookshop’s sofa. He watched, breath caught in his throat, the slight deepening of Crowley's breath, the final dregs of tension seeping from his fingers as they uncurled. 

In the grate, the yule log crackled, sending sparks dancing up the chimney. Crowley snored softly. 

Aziraphale exhaled carefully. He supposed he should have expected this. Hadn't he gone out of his way to be inviting? Hadn't he hoped that Crowley might gather up one of the many hints, allusions and, alright, yes, temptations Aziraphale had been sprinkling about like breadcrumbs for most of the year? Since, in fact, the bookshop had opened and the discombobulation of Gabriel's visit had faded enough for Aziraphale to relax back into his corporation again. Thoughts of Gabriel had familiar terror close on their heels. There was a demon asleep on Aziraphale's sofa! 

_ Lured him here under a Christmas truce, got him terribly drunk, just about to smite him when you showed up, actually.  _

No. There was not a demon asleep on his sofa,  _ Crowley _ was asleep on his sofa. Not that Heaven or Hell would note the difference. Aziraphale did though, and, just like that, the worry over what was considered Right was washed away by what just felt right. 

Aziraphale placed the glasses of mulled wine on the desk next to the half eaten box of marzipan and settled into his arm chair. The yule log popped and hissed. A group of optimistic carolers approached the bookshop door and then, for some inexplicable reason, quickly changed direction. 

Just because Aziraphale was an angel didn't mean he had to be  _ nice.  _ He'd conspired to have a demon fall asleep on his sofa, after all. 

That didn't mean he was, well, the opposite of nice either, Heavens no. 

It was a kindness to embrace the enemy, wasn’t it? Figuratively speaking. No actual embracing here. 

No. 

Azirapahle’s eyes lingered on Crowley, idly wondering about the strength of those delicate fingers, the weight of his slender arms. The sound of Crowley’s heart beat, should that organ be in use.

This wouldn’t do at all. 

Aziraphale picked up his book. Put it down. 

Crowley was asleep on his sofa, and Aziraphale had never seen him so still for so long. The lean line of his throat was exposed where his head had tipped back, the rise and fall of his chest was gentle. The hard twist of his lips was all smoothed out. If Aziraphale let his mind drift from reality and unfocused his mortal eyes, he could catch glimpses of something smooth and sibilant dancing around Crowley’s human body. It was dark, but that didn’t make it bad. It was a warm dark, comforting. Like the promise of a soft blanket, albeit one flecked with the detritus of ancient stars. And it felt light, playful. Mischievous. It felt like Crowley.

Aziraphale smiled. And then bit it away as he worried his lip. He shouldn’t be peeking like that. Not when Crowley was unconscious! 

Terribly bad manners! 

He picked up his book, put on his glasses and settled back in the cushions of his chair. 

Aziraphale’s eyes drifted upwards again. Crowley lay on his back, legs kicked up over one of the sofa arms and head resting on the other. One hand was palm down on his stomach, the other arm thrown over his eyes. 

He'd taken his glasses off. There they were, resting on the shelves behind him. The shelves where Aziraphale had carefully placed the books on astronomy and natural history. 

Crowley had taken his glasses off. Aziraphale had not seen his eyes unshielded since the crucifixion. Aziraphale swallowed. He wasn't seeing them now, but that wasn't the point. 

The point was,  _ Crowley wasn't wearing his glasses!  _

Sometimes there was nothing quite so terrifying as getting exactly what you wanted.

Especially when you hadn't quite admitted to yourself that you wanted it. 

With the snow-muffled silence outside the shop, and here in a room lit only by the fire and candles, Aziraphale couldn't hide from how his heart had pirouetted when Crowley had  _ finally  _ arrived for Christmas Eve, the top of his hat brushing against the winter greenery Aziraphale had hung above the door. 

Aziraphale hadn't been able to hide the smile that had been born in his very spirit when Crowley had grinned at him, producing the box of marzipan with a flourish and, "it's what the humans do these days. It's tradition!" 

There was no denying now that as Aziraphale had begun feathering this place that was now his, he'd had the comfort of somebody else in mind too. 

Every single,  _ you should come and see what I've found for the back room,  _ and,  _ I've acquired a very interesting edition,  _ and,  _ come in, Crowley, I'll be ready in a moment,  _ had been an opening of arms, a blurring of barriers. An acknowledgement of what he had been craving for so very long. 

Perhaps, if he dared think it, what they had both been craving?

Aziraphale’s pulse fluttered. The audacity of the realisation made him shiver.

No one would be watching tonight though. No one would be listening. The whole world was still tonight. 

_ Make yourself at home.  _

Aziraphale had said it, hadn't he? Right before going to fetch more mulled wine. 

_ Shan't be a moment. Make yourself at home, dear boy.  _

And Crowley had. 

Aziraphale was seized with the awful hope, tremulous and ephemeral, that this was something that they could do every Christmas Eve. Something that would mesh them together throughout the distance they always sought to keep between themselves the rest of the year. 

"Merry Christmas, dear." Aziraphale whispered and tried again, and failed again, to focus on his book.


End file.
